


sunday (the other side of the bed)

by ttamarrindo



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttamarrindo/pseuds/ttamarrindo
Summary: when wonpil comes for him, brian is still sitting at the kitchen table, waiting.





	sunday (the other side of the bed)

**Author's Note:**

> [ listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaG4g8ziDH8)

when brian wakes up, the other side of the bed is empty. 

he breathes in. sweat and stale air. summer is here, he thinks, remembers the promise he made wonpil to go down to busan one day, maybe, when the days got warmer, the nights shorter. busan, to watch the seashore like they say they would before - before.

“we could go”, wonpil had said, days ago. weeks ago. months ago. maybe. probably. brian forgot to keep count. “we could go,” he had said in between too many drinks and too many regrets, his voice catching and his eyes so very, very sad. “we could go,” he had said, meant: _you should_.

“maybe”, brian had answered, a lifetime ago, the empty promise bitter and heavy on his tongue, then turned his gaze away, meant: _i won’t._

eventually, he gets up. the other side of the bed is still empty, but that’s okay. it’s sunday, the other side of the bed is always empty on sundays. 

he ignores the bundle of flannels and old band shirts sitting by a corner of the room in favor of starting up the coffee pot. he has to do their laundry. the bedroom is getting messy, messier than either of them can handle anyways. but not today. there’s other things he needs to do today.

he sits down at the kitchen table and skims through their bundle of mail. bills, bills, an insurance check, bills. it goes like that: the slow drag of time brian tries to kill before it gets away from him and he’s left behind. again. by the time he's done, his coffee is cold. but that’s fine, he made enough for two.

when wonpil comes for him, brian is still sitting at the kitchen table, waiting. 

“are you ready to go?” he asks, voice thin and frail as he watches him, means: _you don’t need to._

“i am,” brian answers, takes the second mug full of coffee and leaves it by the kitchen sink, where it sits, untouched, means: _i have to_.

 

before - before. it went like this:

“hey - _hey_ , if you’re gonna play at ass o’clock in the morning the least you can do is play good music.”

brian watches as his neighbour clucks his tongue. he looks tired, purple under his eyes and shoulders slumped down down down. brian is tired, too, but there’s a song itching just under his skin and he needs to get it out before it disappears, before it runs back to hide in his veins, its rhythm lost in the beats of his heart where brian can no longer hear it. 

“sorry,” he says, because he is. his neighbor - a tall, lanky boy brian’s seen around in the hallways - just frowns, knowing, and shifts on his feet to peer inside brian’s home.

“you’re not gonna stop, are you,” he says when he sees the guitar and the scattered papers full of not-words and half-formed melodies. it’s not a question, not really. so brian doesn’t answer.

“sorry,” he says again, for what it’s worth. 

“‘it’s fine,” he says back. “you could use some help with the verse, though.”

brian watches him, watches him and wonders how he knew. but then the boy says, “i can help,” and brian - brian opens the door and lets him in. 

 

before - before. it went like this:

“i’m jae,” he says after the song is done and brian can breath again without the words threatening to choke him, threatening to pull him down and tear his throat apart in an effort to get out, get heard.

“brian,” he answers. smiles. feels something else get stuck on his throat when jae grins in return. and _oh_ , he thinks - before. before. before. “it’s nice to meet you,” he says, means: _this is dangerous_. 

“you too,” jae says, means: _good. that’s how you know it’s worth it._

(and it is. it is. it is.)

 

“stop,” brian says and wonpil does. the car comes to a halt at a crossroads. the younger turns to look at him, eyes sad. so very, very sad. 

“hyung,” he says. “we don’t have to-”

“let’s go to the beach,” brian asks, pleads. his hands are tight fists on top of his legs, clenching unclenching - like the waves, the waves back in busan. “let’s go,” he says again. 

“are you sure?” wonpil asks but he’s already turning left, his old truck gaining speed before brian can say a word. 

that’s good. that’s better. brian is not certain he would have said yes.

 

before. jae used to work sundays. 

“it’s not fair,” he whines in the early morning hours when the sun is still sleeping but he is not. “it’s so fucking unfair. i hate my job.”

“mmh,” brian mumbles from where he’s hiding in his pillows. it’s routine by now. jae gets up, slips on some worn shirt he stole from brian, and heads down to open up the store. before, he leaves a mug of coffee behind for brian, who wakes up again, this time to an empty bed, and spends his days killing time in between classes.

when brian looks up, there are red marks on his cheek. jae smoothes them away, careful. fond.

“you could be more understanding, asshole,” he grouches when brian makes to go back to sleep. still, his hands are soft on brian’s cheeks, before, so brian figures it’s okay to let him go.

(he shouldn't have. he shouldn't have. he shouldn't have.)

 

sungjin calls when they’re just a few miles away from the beach. 

“he’s - he’s not going, hyung,” wonpil says into the phone, looks at brian out of the corner of his eye. brian pretends he doesn’t notice. pity, he thinks, is such an awful thing to feel for your friends. 

“no, no, he’s fine, hyung. he’s with me. we’re heading to the beach,” wonpil says, means: _he’s not_ , hopes: _this will help_.

brian doesn’t know if it will, he doesn’t think it can, not really, but the beach is closer now, the air smells fresh and brian can taste salt on his tongue. he breathes in.

“yeah, i know everyone’s going to be there,” wonpil huffs, hands tight on the steering wheel. “but - but he asked if we could go, so i said yes.”  
everyone's going to be there, brian thinks and opens the door when wonpil drives to a stop before the waves can touch the wheels. everyone, brian thinks, is still not enough. 

he breathes in. 

 

before - before. it went like this:

“there’s been an accident,” the cop says and brian feels his world tilt. fall. “the driver was going way too fast. she wasn’t paying attention. hit him by accident. i’m sorry, sir. when the medics arrived, there was nothing they could do.”

“i see,” brian says, then he thanks the officer and heads back inside. 

inside: a mug of coffee sits on the kitchen counter, untouched. next to it, there’s jae’s. brian picks it up and turns on the tab, lets the water run warm until it burns and then he rubs jae’s mug clean clean clean. 

after - after, he shuffles to their (his. his. his) room and lies down on the bed. he reaches out - he reaches out but the other side of the bed is empty. 

but it’s okay, brian thinks, swallows back the words threatening to choke him, threatening to pull him down and tear his throat apart in an effort to get out, get heard. 

but it’s okay. 

it’s sunday. the other side of the bed is always empty on sundays. 

 

after - after. brian’s black shoes are stark against the brown sand. brian watches the waves crash against the shore and wonders. wonders about how jae knew, that day. 

sometimes, often, brian wishes he would have said no. when his neighbor knocked on his door and told him _i can help_ brian wishes sometimes, often, for something like this:

 

“it’s fine,” brian says. “thanks, but i can manage.”

“whatever, man,” his neighbour says. brian doesn’t know his name. he doesn’t ask for it either. “just keep it down.”

“i will,” brian promises and closes the door. his neighbor leaves then, and brian doesn’t talk to him again.

after- after. a new girl moves into the apartment next door. she’s kind, polite, cute even. brian wonders if it’s too forward of him to ask her out on a date when the accident is still fresh on everyone’s mind. he heard about it from his landlord a few weeks ago. a true pity, really. from what brian remembers of him, his neighbor had been young, too young for something as cruel as a car accident.

brian wonders if it’s too early to ask the new girl out. he doesn't, in the end. he has things to do.

still, he thinks about the accident, about his neighbor. it’s a pity, yes, but brian didn’t know him all that well. 

(maybe he could have. maybe he should have.)

 

“you know, hyung,” wonpil says as he comes to stand next to him. his black suit is the same as brian’s and brian knows they must look silly, standing at the water’s edge like they are, all dressed in black as the sun melts into the sea below. “it’s okay to let go.”

“i know,” brian says, means: _i don’t know how._

because after - after. brian’s black shoes are stark against the brown sand. brian watches the waves crash against the shore and wonders. wonders about how jae knew, that day. 

and sometimes, always, brian wishes for something like this:

 

“it’s not fair,” jae whines in the early morning hours when the sun is still sleeping but he is not. “it’s so fucking unfair. i hate my job.”

“then stay,” brian huffs. he sits up, grins when he sees the incredulous look the older shoots him. “fuck your job, stay home with me.”

“we need to eat, brian,” jae says, as though brian is too dumb to understand. but his hands are soft against brian’s cheek where he’s smoothing away the pillow creases, so he lets it go.

“stay,” brian presses and takes the hand jae’s resting on his cheek in between his own. he pulls him down and jae meets him halfway in kiss that’s far too messy and far too lazy to be anything but perfect.

“okay,” jae says, after- after. means: _i’ll stay_.

“i know,” brian grins back, means: _forever_.

 

“we should go back,” wonpil says when the air has turned too cold, too biting. “it’s getting pretty late, hyung.”

“go,” brian says, motions for wonpil to head back to the car. “i’ll be after you in a minute.”

wonpil goes. so does the minute. still, brian stays where he is, letting the water wet the hem of his black trousers and the wind tint his fingertips blue.

before, brian thinks, when jae said _i know this place by the beach. we should go there sometime, if you want. together._

before, brian thinks, they never went. always either too busy or too tired, or both. now - after. after, brian stands by the beach, alone, and says, “stay.”

 

means: _i wish you still could._

**Author's Note:**

> i've been feeling down lately this makes no sense i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo)


End file.
